


An assassin’s guide to decoration and renovation

by StarrySkies282



Series: Heaven Help a Fool Who Falls in Love [13]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Awesome Clint Barton, Domestic Fluff, F/F, IKEA, Moving In Together, Painting, decoration, new place, umm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:34:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23770138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarrySkies282/pseuds/StarrySkies282
Summary: “We should pick green, like your eyes,” she says, not totally serious, but hey, it wouldn’t be a bad idea.“We are not painting our bedroom green,” protests Natasha.“Hmm yeah we don’t want anything to over power their green” says WandaOr: Natasha and Wanda decorate
Relationships: Wanda Maximoff/Natasha Romanov
Series: Heaven Help a Fool Who Falls in Love [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1424389
Comments: 10
Kudos: 73





	An assassin’s guide to decoration and renovation

**Author's Note:**

> Whoops! I’ve been meaning to post for a while but just haven’t gotten around to it, so hope you all enjoy :)

Morning sunlight came creeping through the windows, through the temporary, paper-thin curtain nets they had put up the night before, rousing Natasha. Beside her, Wanda lay, her cheek nestled against Natasha’s shoulder, sound asleep.

Shifting ever so slightly, her movements imperceptible, she extricates herself from that position, careful not to disturb Wanda, and it takes all the skills she’s built up over the years to do so.

Her phone tells her it’s past 8 in the morning— high time to be up; she was never one to sleep in anyway.

Stretching, she groans inwardly: sleeping on a mattress on the floor was not the most comfortable. Yes, she’d had worse places to sleep but still... _it hurt_.

Figuring she’ll let Wanda sleep in for a few more minutes, Natasha traipses out to the kitchen to put the kettle on. She gets an earl grey brewing for Wanda and sighs as she reaches for the jar of instant coffee— _it’ll have to do_. She makes a mental note to buy a cafetière when they go out today.

Taking a sip of the sub-par coffee, she returns the bedroom to rouse Wanda. Kneeling down beside, her, she places a kiss to the Sokovian’s cheek.

“Wake up, Wanda,” she says softly and Wanda rolls over to face her, still with her eyes closed. She mumbles something incomprehensible and tries to swat Natasha’s hand away but misses because she can’t see.

“We’re going to choose paint today,” Natasha tells her gently. “Gotta pick something for the bedroom.”

She smiles to herself as she thinks back to a previous occasion where she had tried to wake Wanda and had ended up being blasted into the wall.

They’ve come a long way since then.

Wanda opens her eyes lazily and finds herself gazing into Natasha’s viridescent depths.

“We should pick green, like your eyes,” she says, not totally serious, but hey, it wouldn’t be a _bad_ idea.

“We are _not_ painting our bedroom green,” protests Natasha.

“Hmm yeah we don’t want anything to over power their green” says Wanda, more to herself, as she leans up to boop Natasha on the nose.

“Did you just—“

“Yes.” Says Wanda defiantly, doing her best to look tough with her tousled hair and sleep ridden eyes.

“Alright. Enough. Just get out of bed.”

“I don’t want to go,” returns Wanda groggily, “I want to say here in bed with you.”

“In case you haven’t realised,” says Natasha, trying and failing to hide the smile from her voice, “we don’t even have a _bed_. Just a mattress. Which is why we’re also going to Ikea.”

More incomprehensible mumbling, and Wanda’s face disappears under the duvet.

“Come on,” the older woman coaxes, shifting the duvet. “You’ll enjoy it. They’ve got all sorts of interesting stuff. Picture frames, we need some of those, and we can have a look at the bookshelves as well, remember, try and pick some out today.”

“And why, pray tell, was the famous Black Widow in Ikea?” Asks Wanda with a smile that is both infuriating _and_ adorable.

How she manages to be simultaneously infuriating and adorable, Natasha doesn’t know. You’ll have to ask Wanda. Or be Wanda.

Natasha sighs. “I went with Steve to help him decorate his apartment a while back.”

“Oh so _that’s_ why its so artfully decorated.”

“You didn’t think that was all Steve’s doing did you?”

“I guess not,” concedes Wanda, settling back into the pillows.

Natasha drags the covers off the bed— no, the _mattress_ — in a final attempt to get Wanda up and goes into the bathroom to shower.

-

Finally, though, they do make it to the paint shop.

They spend a good while there, and Wanda is beginning to lose her patience.

They’ve settled for off-whites. Pale blues and greys, that sort of thing. A pale grey for the living room and kitchen area; blue for the bedroom. They just need to find the right shade. But to Wanda, they’re all starting to look the same and all the squinting is beginning to give her a headache.

“Hey Nat?” She says finally.

“Hmm?”

“You seem to have a better eye for this than I do... do you mind if I go to the furniture store opposite, I might be able to find something.” She can barely keep the desperation from her voice.

“Sure,” says Natasha, placing a kiss to Wanda’s hand, watching as she leaves before turning back to the swatches in front of her.

-

The shop in question is light and airy, soft piano music playing in the background. It’s a showroom of sorts, selling sofas and side tables and cushions and lighting and other soft furnishings. Something their apartment sorely needs.

There’s a soft grey sofa Wanda is particularly drawn to. It’s slightly over stuffed but very comfortable-looking and would go with Natasha’s paint choice for the living room. Yep, she’s sold, they’re definitely getting that. Along with some bright green cushions she’s found. Because if she can’t paint the walls green like Natasha’s eyes, she’ll buy green cushions.

Meanwhile, Natasha, after much deliberation, has finally settled on the right paint colours, when her phone buzzes in her pocket.

It’s a message from Wanda: _What do you think?_

Accompanied is a picture of an admittedly rather comfortable looking sofa, something Natasha thinks will go well to offset the grey colour she’s chosen for their living room.

_Perfect_ , she types back, and sees the ‘...’ that shows Wanda is typing.

_I’m glad you like it because I’ve already bought it_

She smiles to herself as she exits the paint store, cans of paint in hand. Loading the van they’d borrowed from Tony, she looks up to find Wanda coming towards her, pushing a shopping cart.

“What’cha got there?” She asks as the brunette approaches.

“Some cushions and this rug, it’s all soft and this really cool silvery-blue colour,” replies Wanda, her eyes alight and Natasha has to fight the urge to kiss her right there and then in the busy parking lot.

(She loses the fight and kisses her anyway)

“Alright, ready for Ikea?” Wanda nods as she climbs into the passenger seat beside Natasha.

—

It’s a weekend, so as usual, Ikea is heaving with people buying various pieces of furniture to update their homes or browsing through the showrooms, looking for inspiration. Natasha grabs a shopping trolley and her and Wanda enter the throng of people.

“Where do we start?” Wanda asks as someone pushes past her. Natasha’s descriptions had failed to mention how _busy_ it would be.

“We’ll just take a look around, go through the showroom areas first, pick stuff up along the way... oh wait, we’ll need these,” gestures Natasha, grabbing a slip of paper and a pencil and handing it to Wanda.

“What’s this for?”

“When we find the furniture we’re going to buy, so in our case, the bed and bookshelves, you note down the aisle and location so we can pick it up from the warehouse.”

“Oh, right,” Wanda replies. Honestly, she’s a little overwhelmed by all this, but she follows Natasha closely through the crowds of people, to the first set of showrooms that have been made up to be bedrooms.

“What do you think of this one?” Wanda asks Natasha, after a while, pointing to a white-painted bed frame with a label declaring itself ‘Hemnes,’ whatever that meant. Natasha cracks a smile, glad to see Wanda is warming up a bit.

“Yeah, that’ll do... although we’re getting it king sized.”

Aisle and shelf number noted, they headed off again, Wanda stopping every so often, becoming distracted by something or other, and truth be told, Natasha didn’t blame her. Their shopping cart ended up far more full than expected, Wanda adding an unholy amount of candles in various scents including vanilla, peach and orange (which Natasha can’t deny is rather nice), apple, and red berry.

The first time she had been here, Natasha had cursed the indirectness of it all. You could simply not get directly from A to B, but had to meander through all these aisles and showrooms until you ended up with more than you had ever come here for. But, just this once, with Wanda by her side, she makes an exception. It’s not _all_ bad.

They next come to a hall half the size of a football field devoted entirely to shelving, and she turns to Wanda.

“Take your pick,” she says, gesturing to all the possibilities laid out in front of them. With much close examination and dismissal of various names like ‘Kallax’ and “Billy” and “Besta”, they finally— coincidently— settle on a set of bookshelves in the ‘Hemnes’ range, which, on measuring, are found to fit perfectly into that corner space by the window. After that comes seating where they pick out four ‘Glenn’ bar stools to go around their kitchen island.

Their path takes them through a kitchenware section, where Natasha finds her much sought-after cafetière and picks up a set of plates, glasses, cutlery, mugs and cooking utensils, as well as pots and pans that has Wanda laughing for some reason.

(In her defence, its not everyday you get to see the formidable Black Widow shopping for kitchenware)

Wanda adds in a set of spice jars and Natasha a packet of red napkins and some placemats.

Before they can even get to the warehouse to pick up their items, they’re side-tracked by plants. A lady in yellow urges them to pick one out, over-zealously promising them it will “brighten up any home.” They end up with three succulents, two cacti and an orchid, courtesy of Wanda.

Who will look after them when Natasha and Wanda are away on missions, Natasha doesn’t know. She’ll have to ask Steve who waters his geraniums when he’s away. Maybe it’s a neighbour? God, does this mean she has to get friendly with neighbours now?

Even by the checkouts, two trolleys between them, the platform one with all the flat packed boxes and the regular one, there are still shelves and buckets filled with various items, leading to the acquisition of clothes hangers, resealable food storage bags and yet more napkins. It’s strategically done, a marketing ploy, but Natasha feels justified, they _are_ setting up a home after all.

With their borrowed van loaded up and weighed down, the drive back is much slower, in effort not to dislodge or break any of their numerous new purchases.

Luckily though, when they return, no one is around to see the wispy red sparks supporting the large cardboard flat-packed boxes as they enter the elevator or the redhead who is surely lifting more than is humanly possible to carry.

-

It’s barely afternoon, a little after one, and they’re eating leftovers from the Thai they ordered last night while planning how best to tackle the project that is decorating their new home. It still feels strange to be able to say that. Never did Natasha think she’d be in this position. But she is, and it’s with Wanda.

They’ve decided to tackle painting first, so as not to get any on the new furniture, but have agreed they will set up the bed that evening because, Natasha has said firmly, she _will not be sleeping on the floor another night_.

So they start with the bedroom, laying out dust sheets to protect the floor, moving their mattress into the spare room.

“You ever painted before?” Natasha asks, entering the room.

“No,” admits Wanda, turning around, becoming instantly captivated by Natasha. She’s pulled her hair back into a bun, a few auburn strands hanging down to frame her face, dressed in an old, slightly oversized t shirt and a pair of jeans that are just _sinfully_ tight. She stops staring before Natasha notices, no easy feat because Natasha notices _everything_.

“It’s easy, you’ll pick it up as we go,” Natasha reassures, nudging the taller woman gently. “But first, go change into something you won’t mind getting paint on.”

While she’s gone, Natasha finishes setting up, unpacking paintbrushes and opening up the paint cans, tipping paint into a tray. It’s times like this she’s glad she helped Clint repaint the barn those few summers ago.

“So, where do we start?” Asks Wanda, returning.

“Right, so, these rollers are going to make everything go a lot quicker,” informs Natasha, handing wanda one. “Just paint in one direction, straight lines, and you’ll be fine.”

“That rhymes,” laughs Wanda.

“I wasn’t even trying,” Natasha replies drily before getting to work.

It takes a while but between them, with Wanda using wisps of scarlet magic to help them along, they’re finished, and it doesn’t even look half bad. It looks quite good, actually. But they’re not done yet. Natasha has plans to finish most of the living room and kitchen area today as well.

-

At some point, neither are really sure, having lost track of time, there’s a knock at the door and Natasha freezes because who on earth could that be? They haven’t ordered anything. She’s hoping it’s not a neighbour— she doesn’t want interaction _this_ early on.

“Nat? Wanda?” A voice comes from somewhere beyond the apartment walls, and with relief, Natasha realises it is one Clinton Francis Barton.

Putting down her brush, she goes over to answer the door. She didn’t think they’d be having visitors so soon.

“Didn’t expect to see you today,” she greets him.

“Well, I was in the neighbourhood, Tony wants us over for briefing this evening-“ he stops short, noticing Natasha’s paint-streaked hair, the way it covers the backs of her hands and knuckles, and then sees Wanda behind her, looking just as dishevelled, paint smudged across her left cheek.

“I take it this means you’re not coming,” he says, recovering, gesturing between the two.

“No. Finally decided to use up some of those vacation days. You should have seen Tony’s face when I told him,” grins Natasha, reminded of the encounter. Not for the first time she’s glad she’s a spy,otherwise she’s sure she would have doubled over laughing there and then at the memory of Tony’s expression.

“What’s in the bags?” Wanda asks as Clint makes himself at home, perching on _their_ kitchen counter.

“Oh, yeah, the reason I’m here. Housewarming gifts. From me ‘n Laura and the kids.”

Natasha is taken aback. Yes, its something people do, but did she ever expect anyone to do that for her? Did she even expect to have her own home to warm? The answer _was_ a solid no, but apparently, not anymore.

The first thing he brings out is a stack of crocheted blankets, with Laura’s workmanship written all over it. To anyone, it may feel like a perfectly ordinary thing to give to furnish a new home with, but to Natasha it runs much deeper than that. It brings her back to the first time she had stayed with the Barton’s, after Clint had ‘recruited’ her. To how Laura had taken care of her, given her a blanket just like this one to ward off the cold. How unexpected that was, when Natasha had been expecting to be turfed out of doors. It was really, probably, one of the first times Natasha had felt she could be _something_ else. Something other than fighter, spy, assassin.

“This is from Nate, he wants to make sure you get this,” Clint holds up a drawing, bringing Natasha back to the present. It’s of seven stick figures (meant to be Clint, Laura, the kids, Natasha and Wanda) surrounded by grass and trees and a sun that takes up about a quarter of the page.

“That’s adorable,” coos Wanda beside her.

“Oh, yeah, he gave some magnets as well and made me promise to tell you to stick it to the fridge.”

Natasha laughs and obediently goes to fulfil the request— how could she not?

Pulling out her phone, she takes a photo of the fridge where Nate’s drawing hangs proudly, sending it to Laura as proof.

Next come a stack of choice books from Cooper, and a batch of chocolate chip cookies from Lila, with a note proudly informing the recipient she had baked them herself.

Also from Laura is one of her famous chicken pies which Natasha will be eternally grateful for (she is getting sick of takeaway pizzas and Thai, no matter how good they might taste).

Finally from Clint there is a framed photo, it’s from the camping trip he had invited Natasha and Wanda on a few weeks ago. That’s definitely going up on the bookshelf, thinks Wanda in one of the frames they had purchased today.

He’s also given a much-needed (by Natasha at least) bag of coffee.

-

“It’s looking good,” Clint says, looking up at the walls. He considers himself something of an interior designer himself (although Laura may call it something different). “Care to help?” Asks Natasha from her spot, brush once more in hand.

“I would, but I’d rather not turn up to Tony’s briefing covered in paint,” the archer says, going over to put the pie in the fridge. “In any case, I think you would benefit more if I went out to get you shopping. Your fridge is _empty_.”

“Not completely,” defends Wanda, although that’s a stretch. There’s a few dregs of milk left in the carton and a couple of slices of cold pizza in a box. That is hardly _full_.

“Geez, even the cupboards,” says Clint on inspection, shaking his head and turning to Natasha, who is about to protest when Clint holds up his hand. “Nope, I’m going out,” he declares, already heading out the door. Natasha sighs, turning back to her painting.

It takes a couple more hours and Wanda’s joints are stiff from all the stretching, but eventually they’re finished, and there’s this warmth, this feeling of accomplishment, coursing through her.

“Well, we did it,” says Wanda, her arm threading itself around Natasha, who is experiencing a similar feeling.

Clint, at some point, had returned, to find the two sitting, tired, cross-legged on the floor amongst the paint trays and brushes and cans.

“Where’ve you been?” Wanda asks with a smile. In response, Clint holds up several rather overfilled-looking grocery bags.

“In other words, he’s been avoiding any _real_ work,” jokes Natasha, and Clint pretends to be offended.

“Guess I’ll just take all this back then,” he mutters, before red wisps encircle the bags, setting them down safely on the counter, to Clint’s shock.

“Damnit, forgot about your witchy magic.”

“You like it really,” quips Wanda, and Natasha hauls herself up from the floor and kisses Wanda, silencing her effectively.

“ _Ookay_ then. If you two are gonna do that, I’ll just see myself out,” says Clint, backing away towards the door.

“Thanks for the stuff, Clint!” Calls Natasha to the archer’s retreating figure.

“Yeah, yeah,” she hears the reply, smiling to herself.

“So now what?” Asks Wanda, leaning into Natasha once more.

“Well,” says Natasha, tangling strands of Wanda’s hair between her fingers, “we gotta tidy this stuff up at some point, and there’s the bed to put up,” at which, Wanda groans emphatically. “But first, there’s Laura’s pie.”

Wanda’s face breaks into a grin and Natasha goes over to the fridge, while Wanda goes to hunt down paper plates. This will be the last time they have to use them, and quite frankly, they’re both glad: things seem to taste better eaten from _actual_ plates.

Their meal is consumed on various crates on the floor (they haven’t put the bar stools together yet), and they eat in a tired silence, each savouring the other’s company. There’s no real need for words. Finally though, Natasha breaks the silence, stretching and standing up.

“What do you want to start with first?”

“The bed,” says Wanda, looking at all the boxes: it looks like it will take a while, and she’d like to do it while she’s feeling a _little_ rested at least.

-

“I did not know a bed came in so many pieces,” confesses Wanda, admittedly a little shocked as she contemplates all the parts strewn across the floor. “Are you sure it’s not broken?”

“Fairly,” returns Natasha, grinning wryly as she hunts down her newly purchased tool box. “You got the instruction manual?”

“The... oh,” Wanda peters off, opening the discarded booklet and then scrubbing at her eyes. “These pictures are awful. There aren’t even any words.”

“Relax, I did this with Clint once before... shouldn’t be that bad.”

(Admittedly, with Clint it had been a table, which was a heck of a lot easier than a bed, but still, it’s the same principle. Right?)

About two hours later, their new mugs inaugurated, and the snacks Clint brought them almost diminished, they’re finished.

“Who knew a bed could be so complicated,” yawns Wanda, leaning against the side of the bed frame, Natasha’s head resting on the brunette’s shoulder.

“Yeah but we did it,” Natasha says warmly, pulling Wanda closer, their room illuminated by the soft light of a new lamp.

It felt strange, this. Here, her, them. Together with this new life stretched out ahead. But Natasha was ready.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Hopefully now, with nothing much to do, I’ll be able to be more frequent with updates. Can’t make any promises though.  
> Stay safe xx


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